


years to come

by kickedshins



Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Could Be Canon, Fluff, Found Family, Gen, References to Depression, ben and sammy do face masks on air, canon-typical levels of musings on jack wright, cynthia-typical levels of assholery, extend your disbelief as to how long a commercial break lasts, lily wright takes no shit and leaves no survivors, set after e90
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:28:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23090227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kickedshins/pseuds/kickedshins
Summary: Sammy's got a new family. That’s what he’s going to focus on from here on out. Ben might be co-authoring a new notebook with Emily, and Lily might be on his case daily about how she misses Jack, too, and Sammy might feel like everything is veering just a little bit out of control, but for the time being, he has a home. He has people who love him, even if they show it by eating the overnight oats he prepared as a breakfast for himself, and not as a breakfast for them.He’s alive. And he’s happy to be alive.orBen convinces Sammy do to face masks on air. After everything that's happened, some self-care is in order.
Relationships: Ben Arnold & Sammy Stevens, Sammy Stevens & Lily Wright, background Ben Arnold/Emily Potter
Comments: 14
Kudos: 73





	years to come

**Author's Note:**

> hey this takes place b/t episodes 90 and 91 i'm doing it all from memory so sorry if i mess up canon. just a dumb little thing bc my friend wanted me to write sammy and ben doing face masks on air which then devolved into a conversation abt which of these four adults is the least properly adjusted and most likely to use two-in-one. also dont @ me if i used kismesis improperly in the tags ive never homestucked. 
> 
> enjoy :-)

“Alright, folks,” Sammy says through laughter. “I don’t think it’s that much of a crime that I don’t have a ritualistic skincare regimen, do you? Actually, no, don’t answer that. I don’t need you guys calling in to tell me why I have to go burn holes in my pockets just to get something that’ll fail to take care of the acne I haven’t had since I was Ben’s age.”

“Hey!” Ben protests. “You can’t get all defensive about the jokes I make about your age and then go and make jokes about mine. Also, jokes on you, because I haven’t had bad acne since I was twenty-two. So suck it.”

“Ouch! Fierce words from our local angsty teenager.”

Ben snorts. “Dude. Really. You can’t tell me you didn’t have an emo phase when you were younger. I can practically see the eyeliner and skinny jeans.”

“Okay, you do not need to go there.”

Ben gets that characteristic twinkle in his eye, the one that says he isn’t going to relent until he gets what he wants. And in this case, what he wants is incriminating photos from Sammy’s youth, which he’s pretty sure Lily might still have floating around somewhere if she hung onto any of the ones he gave to her and Jack once when the three of them decided that exchanging mortifying pictures of their younger years on-air would provide adequate entertainment in an all-audio format.

They were still getting used to radio. And while that sort of stuff might not have skyrocketed their rating, back when it was the three of them it was always more about getting to spend time with two people he loved. Loves. In the present tense, loves, because Ben would have Sammy’s head if he knew that there was any discussion of Jack Wright going on in the past tense.

With all his reminiscence, Sammy’s missed the majority of what Ben has been rambling about for this past minute or so, but he’s been doing that quite a bit lately, and Ben’s been understanding about it. 

“So, in conclusion,” Ben says loudly, patting Sammy on the knee to grab his attention again, “I have some sheet masks for the two of us. Which, dear listeners, you will not be able to see, but rest assured, Sammy Stevens will have the hydrating visage of a panda across his face for the next twenty or so minutes. Just if you needed any more nightmare material nowadays.”

“Ben!”

Ben positions his hand on the bleeper for a second before remembering that it’s very much out of commission. (They really need to get that thing fixed up. Sammy never wants to deal with another call from Cynthia complaining about the rapid deterioration of family-friendly values that the station was promoting, and Sammy’s pretty sure she was only being homophobic for about 50% of that. He’d told her that if she didn’t want her kids to hear him occasionally swearing on-air while they fixed up the bleeper, she should have them get to bed before two in the morning on a weeknight. She’d sniffed and muttered something about religious freedoms. Whatever. It’s her kids that’ll get sick and die from the measles and mumps, not Ben and Emily’s future progeny, and only one of those little monsters has a dickhead as a mother.)

“What?” Ben asks defensively.

“Did you just imply that my face is nightmare material?”

“No! I meant that the panda is ugly! Because the panda is fuckin’ ugly, that’s all, Jack-in-the-box-Jesus, Sammy,” Ben says, spinny stool rotating as he laughs. During the station upgrade, that was the one thing he’d asked for. And Sammy hadn’t exactly been in any sort of state to be able to veto that, and Emily didn’t manage to talk him out of it, so now they’ve got swivel stools. 

Ben plants his feet firmly on the ground and spins back to position himself firmly in front of the mic. “I just think you need to be taking better care of your skin. You’ve got wrinkles, man!”

“Didn’t we call a truce on the age jokes for the night?”

“Nah, I just said you’d better stop it with me is all. Anyway, they’re in my bag, so if you’ll just give me a sec to run into my office and–”

  
“You’re still calling the broom cupboard your office? Aren’t you a major proponent of factually-accurate reporting?”

Ben glares at him. “Shut up.”

“Also, my skin is fine, thank you very much. Why, the lovely Miss Emily Potter told me recently that I was practically glowing!”

“That was, like, two months ago. And it was because you had oil splatters on your face from frying sufganiyot for Passover.” Ben kicks him lightly in the shin, and Sammy returns it by tugging Ben’s everpresent beanie over his eyes.

“Or because I’m youthful as fuck. Consider that option, too.”

“I will not!” Ben says brightly and with a smile.

“But, Ben, glass houses. You can’t get mad at me for not knowing what rosehip toner is when we all know the reason you wear that dumb little hat all the time is because you don’t wash your hair properly.”

Ben splutters, rising up out of his seat a bit. It’s hilarious. “Just because I don’t have a damn curtain of hair–”

“What would Emily say if she knew about the two-in-one sitting in the shower?” Sammy asks.

“Okay, no. That’s not mine. That’s for real not mine.”

  
“Mm-hmm,” Sammy says, leaning back in his seat. He stretches his legs out below the table holding up the soundboard. 

He really has missed this. Like, a lot. There’s little else that feels as nice as sitting in a radio shack at the top of a mountain twenty minutes out from town and chatting for hours with Ben and the people of the King Falls. He’s finding more and more that he’s genuinely glad to be here. ‘Here’ as in both the radio station and alive on Earth, in general. In the game of life, he’s been dealt a few extremely shitty hands, but this current round seems to be going a bit better than most. Because as much as he misses Jack with a hunger that eats at him daily, he’s learning how to get by in his day-to-day, learning how to enjoy getting not-really-all-that-mad at Lily for eating his oats and to look forward to mornings cooking breakfast with Emily after he gets back from doing the show (because Ben can’t cook and Lily can only burn things and Emily stays the night at their house rather frequently these days for both Ben-before-he-leaves-for-the-show reasons and for simple comfort reasons) and even tolerate Ben singing in the shower when Sammy’s trying to nap. He has a new family tied to the radio station and an old family tied to the ring on his finger and the two of those forces of love are not at all mutually exclusive. 

“No, seriously, I do not use two-in-one shampoo and conditioner. It would wreak havoc on my hair texture,” Ben insists. His eyebrows are raised slightly, and so is his voice.

“You heard it here first, folks! Ben Arnold: he has passable standards for hair care,” Sammy drawls into the mic. 

“You are insufferable, Sammy. Did anyone ever tell you that you’re insufferable?”

“I feel like there’s no good way to answer that. But if it isn’t your two-in-one, and it’s not mine, and Emily certainly didn’t leave it there, then…”

  
Ben howls with laughter. “Burger King of Kings. Lily Wright uses two-in-one? But her hair is always so shiny!”

“Not as shiny as mine,” Sammy grumbles.

“You’re ridiculous, man.”

“I thank you kindly for that. Anyway, folks, you’ve heard our story of how this household puts the fun in dysfunctional. Now let’s hear yours. Line number ei–”

Ben slaps his hand away from the soundboard. “Avoidance tactics! Not good!”

“What am I avoiding? I’m simply trying to get this show on the road, Ben,” Sammy says innocently.

“Well, good thing the station is built firmly into the mountain, and that we won’t be attaching wheels any time soon,” Ben replies.

“What?”

“I just– I was going for the whole ‘on the road’ bit, so if you could just sorta run with it, that’d be great.” Ben looks at him imploringly. It’s pretty difficult for Sammy to say no.

“Sure thing. Very grateful that the show is not literally going on the road. I like the shack.”

“Me, too. Now, okay, wait right here. I’m gonna go grab the face masks. BRB!” 

Ben puts his headphones down on the soundboard instead of on the available table space just about five inches to the left and bolts to the broom closet like his life depends on it. Sammy covers his (admittedly endeared) laugh with his hand and makes small talk with himself into the microphone as he watches Ben frantically tear apart the closet to find his bag. For someone so obsessed with getting every last detail down in his notebooks, Ben is, to put it lightly, a hot mess of a man. He insists that he operates in a state of organized chaos. Sammy has about as easy a time as figuring out where the ‘organized’ part of that chaos comes in as a Tim- or Emily-abducting alien would.

“Alright!” Ben says, sitting himself back down with more force than necessary and a small  _ oof  _ sound. “Got ‘em.”

Sammy taps his headset. “Missing something?” he mouths.

“Oh, shit. Yeah. Forgot. That we were on radio. Not like this is my fifth year doing this, or anything.”

Sammy shakes his head and bites his tongue.

“Alright!” Ben repeats, now that his headset is firmly over his dumb little 660-on-the-AM-dial-branded beanie and his mic has been turned back on. “Got the face masks. For those of you following at home, Sammy’s getting the panda one, and I’m getting, uh… I got a rabbit! Cool. I like rabbits.”

Sammy says, “I think if you combined our animals you’d get a… y’know.”

  
“If you fucking say garbage bear–”

“You kiss the local librarian with that mouth? Jack-in-the-box Jesus, Benny. And, no, I was not going to say garbage bear, because, as I’ve already mentioned tonight, I’m not a sixteen-year-old with an internet addiction and the desire to do some drugstore-bought self-care. I was going to say raccoon, though.”

Ben shudders. “Don’t call me Benny. And don’t bring up garbage bears at a time like this.”

  
“To be fair, you were the one who–”

  
“This is about relaxation, Sammy!” Ben says, slapping his hand dramatically on his leg for emphasis. “This is about taking care of yourself and chilling out, for goodness’ sake!”

  
“Yeah, you seem real calm there, Arnold.”

“Put a sock in it, Shotgun, and get your eyes closed. It’s kinda slimy. Not fun when it gets in your eyes.”

“Oh, ew. Personal experience? And with your contact lenses, too?”

“Not fun,” Ben repeats. “Very much not fun.”

Sammy accepts the packet from Ben with reluctant fingers and an unamused quirk of his lips. “I just want it on the record that I think this whole idea is stupid, and that self-care is not, you know, slathering layers of chemicals all over your face. I bet this thing makes me break out for the first time in years, actually. Also, this couldn’t have waited for, oh, I don’t know, any other time when we weren’t on air?”

“Testy, testy, testy. Sounds like you need… some relaxation!” Ben pulls a disgustingly slick-looking sheet mask from out of the packet and unfolds it with near-manic levels of glee.

“I really don’t,” Sammy insists. “Seriously. I’m so relaxed right now.”

Ben gives him a look. “The sooner you give in, the sooner I let you pick up one of the lines. If not, it’s just gonna be me badgering you with my puppy-dog eyes until you agree, buddy! Guilt trips, hell yeah!” He pumps his fist twice in the air and gives a whoop.

“Okay, fine,” Sammy relents. “Only because I can’t have Emily on my ass about not being nice enough to you.”

He tears open his own packet and gingerly extracts the sheet mask within. It feels absolutely awful. 

“To all you lovely listeners out there, please be aware that Sammy currently looks like he’s holding a dead Pomchi-werewolf hybrid baby that’s been run over laterally by a stray semi.”

“That was extremely specific and unnecessarily graphic, Ben, thank you for that.”

“It’s just a face mask, man. Put it on already.”

“Jack-in-the-box Jesus. Okay. Good thing I shaved today. I really don’t need any goop drying on my stubble. And, Cynthia, please don’t call in about that,” Sammy preemptively pleads. “It was not a metaphor for anything that might not promote family-friendly values, or whatever horseshit you said last time you were on. It was just me saying that this feels disgusting, even just on my fingers, and I have no idea how you people find it enjoyable.”

  
“Self-care, Sammy!” Ben crows. “Your skin’s gonna look amazing after this.”

Sammy gingerly lays it atop his face. “Oh,  _ gross _ . I really haven’t done this since–” He cuts off.

And Ben doesn’t press it, because Ben knows Sammy better than probably anyone else and knows when things should just be blown past instead of expounded upon. Especially nowadays. Especially after all that. 

But Sammy thinks that maybe he should continue his train of thought with this one. He’s already wearing the ring. It’s foolish to ignore altogether the fact that he did, in fact, have a life and past and a host of memories, good and bad, outside of King Falls. And in terms of openness about his emotions, he’s a far cry from being as no-filter as Ben, but maybe he can open up just a little bit. Let Ben in further, let the town in further, let Lily in further, too, because he’s pretty sure she’ll be listening. Even if she denies it adamantly and blames it on insomnia or bad habits or any other reason that might excuse the fact that, on many nights, she stays up to listen to Sammy. She stays up to be a bigger part of his life again, and maybe he could reciprocate just a touch better at times.

“I haven’t done this silly shit,” Sammy says again, voice light but eyes heavy, and that’s okay, because Ben is the only other person who can see his eyes, and Ben’s already seen him at his worst. Ben’s seen him when he was at rock bottom. This is certainly not that. “I haven’t done this silly shit since I was doing my show with the Wri– with Lily and Jack. We’d do little spa nights, you know, sheet masks and watching movies together and drinking water that had fruit put in it.” He laughs, running a thumb over his ring, and he’s expecting the noise to come out melancholy and hollow, but it doesn’t. It just sounds like he’s genuinely just remembering good times.

Which, yeah, he supposes he is.

“Well!” Ben says brightly. His eyes are a bit heavy, too. “Maybe we can reinstate that, yeah?”

“Depends on if I can last a full twenty minutes with this on my face,” Sammy grumbles, and he smiles, and the tenseness is gone, and he feels just a little bit lighter.

“You better, man. You better. Now, okay, yeah, let’s for real take some calls. King Falls, you’ve heard our story, now let’s hear yours! Call us at 424-279-3858 or hit up the Twitters at KingFallsAm and KingFallsSammy respectively. Line number eight, you are finally on the air.”

“Fuck you guys,” Lily Wright says, and Ben slams on the broken bleeper just a second too late for it to have made a difference even if it was still working.

“And a lovely four in the morning to you too, Lils. What brings you to our humble abode on this fine Thursday?”

“I’m literally living in your humble abode, Stevens. Which is actually Arnold’s. So that wasn’t even a funny joke. And I’m here because you two are insulting my hair washing methods while on air. Also because someone stole two of my face masks, but you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you, Benny?” she asks sweetly. Sweet-voice Lily is somehow scarier than scary-voice Lily, which, to be honest, is typically just regular-voice Lily.

“Nope!” he says, fingers drumming against the edge of the table. “No, I would not. Because if I did, I’d probably get slowly and painfully mutilated and the police wouldn’t be able to discern my corpse from a cut-up pint-sized punching bag. Or something of the sort, I’d assume.”

  
“Mm, yes, something of the sort. I’d operate under that assumption as well,” Lily says.

“Sorry to cut in,” Sammy says, unapologetically, “but d’ya mean to say that you both have obsessive skincare routines and yet spend a grand total of two bucks on your hair products?”

“Don’t act all high and mighty, Stevens. You literally don’t wash your face. I would know this because I am unfortunate enough to have to share a bathroom with you. By the way, you’re running low on toothpaste, so go get some more. And before you ask, no, I will not go purchase toothpaste for you. You’re a grown-ass man, even if you act like a kid.”

Sammy splutters angrily. “Okay, no, look. That’s not fair. I do wash my face. I wouldn’t– I’m not gross, Lily.”

“Do not make me mediate a fight about fuckin’ facewash, please,” Ben says under his breath. “This was supposed to be a night of relaxation.”

“You stole my damn face masks, Benjamin!”

  
Sammy lets out a low whistle. “Full name. The claws are _out_.”

“Do not,” Lily threatens. “Just don’t.”

“I wanted to help Sammy chill out! You’ve seen him around the house. You know how he is. And if he doesn’t wash his face, he certainly needs a bit of skincare help,” Ben is quick to add, hastily covering up the implications that Sammy has emotions, because any time Sammy has emotions on air, it typically ends poorly.

Maybe he should work on not bottling up said emotions. Maybe then he’d have fewer destructive explosions. Maybe he should allow the implication that he has emotions to exist. 

He’s been working on it. And it’s a long and hard process to retrain himself from the repression of his Shotgun days, and even the cover-ups of the brunt of his time in King Falls, but he’s been working on it. And it seems to be going alright.

“I do wash my face,” he says. “To anyone listening at home, let it be known that I do, in fact, wash my face.” Face mask goo drips onto the soundboard. “Ben, if the liquid from this skincare thing fries the board, I’m emailing Merv to tell him to take it out of your paycheck.”

“Sure you are, Sammy,” Ben says kindly, patting his shoulder.

“Okay, well, Lily, did you have anything else to say, or are you just calling in to refute the claim that you use two-in-one and also expose the fact that you’re enough of a human being to indulge in a bit of self-care every once in a while? I’m surprised. I wasn’t aware that creatures such as yourself needed our plebeian products to help keep your scales shiny.”

Lily sighs deeply. “You and your ridiculous manly obsession with always getting the last word. Just don’t forget to buy yourself some more toothpaste, Shotgun.” 

The line dies. Ben is grinning madly, and he looks at Sammy as he says, “Alright, it looks like it’s about time to pay some bills, so hang tight, King Falls. We’ll be right back after this!”

He hits the button and tugs his headphones off with haste. Sammy, a bit slower, follows suit. 

“Dude,” Ben says. “You guys are friends.”

“Don’t,” Sammy warns. “Do not.”

“You guys are  _ friends _ ,” Ben repeats emphatically. “She tells you to buy more  _ toothpaste _ .”

“Yes, it’s all very domestic, and I hope you RSVP to the fuckin’ wedding, Benny.”

There’s a moment of silence where Ben doesn’t really know how to respond to that, due to the small fact of Sammy being actually engaged to Lily’s brother, and Sammy doesn’t exactly know how to keep the conversation going, because he doesn’t really want to talk out loud about mending bridges with Lily Wright, even if he is enjoying the actual mending more than he’d ever admit. He supposes that he’s not gotten too far in terms of emotional vulnerability if he still doesn’t want to discuss the mechanics of the friendship-building process, or whatever, though he is finding it easier and easier to casually express his affections towards Lily.

But it’s hard, sometimes, when they fight. Because they still fight. Always will fight. They’re too similar as people, and they don’t like the parts of themselves that they see in the other person. And they both love Jack so very much that it sometimes feels like a competition. So sometimes feelings explode and voices get raised and it’s all Sammy can do to hold himself back from asking Ben to throw her out of the house, but he comes back around. For Lily, and for the greater good of Jack Wright, Sammy supposes he’ll probably always end up coming back around.

Ben looks at Sammy’s ring. “So, he was the one who proposed?” he asks. Softly. So softly that Sammy thinks, for a second, that he might be imagining things. Because Ben Arnold doesn’t exactly deal in quiet voices and hesitant eyes. Then again, the world’s been flipping itself on its head for the past ten or so years of Sammy’s life, if not for the entirety of it, and Ben dropping his volume by a decibel or two is far from the strangest thing that’s occurred in even the past week.

Sammy sighs. “Yeah,” he says. “Can we not– we’re dropping this now, okay?”

  
“Okay,” Ben agrees. He puts an arm around Sammy’s shoulder and pulls him in tight for a quick hug. 

“Thanks,” Sammy says.

“For what? No, you know what, don’t answer that, because you’ll probably end up in self-depricationsville, and I, for one, am very comfortable staying in King Falls.”

Sammy exhales loudly. “Very funny, Ben.”

“You know, my mom used to say I could make a living as a comedian.”

  
“You sure she meant that in a nice way?”

Ben pushes Sammy away. “Hug over. Moment over. We’re back on air in a minute. What the hell is this ad, by the way? I heard Cynthia’s voice and just, like, instantly blacked out.”

“Jack-in-the-box Jesus. Yeah. As you should. Uh, she’s besmirching the library, I think, telling people to not donate for the rebuild? To be honest, I haven’t been listening that closely either. Pretty sure I stopped listening about four years ago when she said Tim had alien pox, or some other anti-vaxx soccer mom bull.”

“She sucks,” Ben says. He holds a hand up before Sammy can open his mouth. “Don’t make a pun about that. I am so very aware that she is into me. Ugh. I don’t need you drilling it into my skull. That fun little factoid is stuck in there like a toddler’s hand in the cookie jar when he’s trying to pull his hand out because his mother is walking down the stairs and will get him in trouble for doing this again.”  
“You’re all about bringing up shitty personal experiences tonight, aren’t you?”

  
“Maybe. What’s it to you, Stevens?”

“We’re back on in a sec, Arnold,” Sammy says with a smile.

“Welcome back, folks! And I’m pretty sure I’m either legally or Sammyly forbidden from–”

  
“Sammyly?” Sammy cuts in, incredulous. “Ben. What?”

“You know, like, legally forbidden means I’m forbidden by law, so Sammyly forbidden would mean I’m forbidden by Sammy. Which is you. I’d be forbidden by you.”

“Of course. Makes total sense. Carry on, please.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I’m either legally or Sammyly forbidden from attacking ad-buyers while on air, but–”

  
“As if that’s stopped you before.”

“As if that’s stopped  _ you  _ before.”

  
“How long do I have to keep this face mask thing on my face?”

“Obfuscating is a no-no, Sammy. Own up to being a hypocrite. Also, I forgot to set a timer, so I have absolutely no clue. A few more minutes?”

“Wonderful. Fantastic. It feels like a family of slugs has died on my face.”

“As I was saying!” Ben says loudly, kicking Sammy in the foot. “I’m pretty sure I’m either legally or Sammyly forbidden from attacking ad-buyers while on air, but whatever was just said, you guys should all ignore it. The library is great. It’s wonderful. It’s perfect. Give it your support. Give it your love. I love it, for one.”

“More or less than you love the lovely Miss Emily Potter?”

“I refuse to answer such a ridiculous question,” Ben scoffs. “Everyone knows I love her more than anything else either in this world or out of it. Come on, man.”

Sammy can feel his heart warming with affection. “My bad. It was presumptuous of me to even ask.”

“Very much so,” Ben agrees. He reaches up to pat his sheet mask. “Oh, no, yeah, this thing feels gross as hell.”

  
Sammy raises an eyebrow. “You’re just now realizing that after having it on your face for a quarter of an hour?”

“A quarter of an hour, seriously, Sammy, just say fifteen minutes, are you kidding. And no, I’ve been aware, but then I touched it with my hands and got re-reminded. Yeah. Let’s take them off now.”

  
“Re-reminded is redundant.”

“Your face is redundant.”

“Your face is five years old, apparently. Now, let me just go grab the trash can from the broom closet.”

“While you’re off to  _ my producer’s office _ ,” Ben corrects smoothly, “I’ll take another caller. Uh, line three, you are…”

Ben’s voice fades into the background as Sammy walks over to the closet. Unsurprisingly, the trash can is filled with the wrappers of the candy bars that Ben not-so-covertly eats in resistance to Sammy’s healthy meals. Ah, well. If he wants junk, he should learn how to cook properly. The last time Ben and Lily tried cooking, they nearly burnt the house down, as well as irreparably damaging one of Ben’s pans. And Lily nearly punched the stove. Sammy’s still not entirely sure if that would have ended worse for her or the stove.

He likes life around the house, actually. Despite the fact that Lily tends to commandeer his bed while he’s off doing radio, and despite the fact that Emily (a fixture of the house, even if she tends to split her time between there and her mom’s place; she doesn’t like being alone what with the visions and all) will sometimes wake up screaming from nightmares, and despite the fact that Ben ridicules him on- and off- air for his extensive shampooing and conditioning rituals, he feels comfortable. Safe. Consistently not alone, for the first time in… well, for the first time since Jack started to drift away.

Sammy throws his face mask into the trash and throws those thoughts out of his head. He’s got a new family. That’s what he’s going to focus on from here on out. Ben might be co-authoring a new notebook with Emily, and Lily might be on his case daily about how she misses Jack, too, and Sammy might feel like everything is veering just a little bit out of control, but for the time being, he has a home. He has people who love him, even if they show it by eating the overnight oats he prepared as a breakfast for himself, and not as a breakfast for them. 

He’s alive. And he’s happy to be alive.

“I’m back,” he says to Ben as he emerges back from the broom closet, trash can in hand. “Hey, Ben, I’m here.”

Atop the sound of Doyle Bevins droning on from the call lines, Ben grins his million-watt grin, earnest as ever, because Ben doesn’t cover up his feelings, and his smile is visible through his stupid dollar-fifty rabbit-printed sheet mask that he stole from Lily. His smile would probably be visible from outer space. And, well, so much of what brought Emily back was Ben’s unfailing optimism, so, really, his smile’s already been seen from up there.

Ben pats the seat next to him. The same seat Sammy’s sat in nearly every day for years. The same seat he’ll continue to sit in for more years to come, hopefully. “Glad to have you, buddy,” says Ben, and Sammy believes him.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! kudos/comments always appreciated also you can find me @ commaperson on the bird app :-)


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